Cabin Fever
by Coseepo
Summary: While investigating a case in the French Alps, John and Sherlock are trapped in a hut due to an avalanche. They need to get out before boredom, cold, or hunger is the end of them. No Slash, T for safety. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**One of my trademark introductory chapters! Yay!**

**So, just a little story that came into mind. Just to warn you I am a slow updater. Enjoy!**

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><p>The sun shone bright and cold over the silent slopes of the French Alps. A hut stood abandoned and snow-covered, with barely a tree nearby. The scene was still, until two man worked their way up, footprints marking their path.<p>

"Here?" asked the shorter, an army-doctor named John.

"Here," said his companion shortly, without slowing. This was Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective.

They entered the cabin. John frowned, rubbing his hands together.

"It's as cold in here as it is outside. I thought most of these ski huts had heating nowadays?"

"Most of them do, yes, John." Sherlock had by now walked to the back of the room and was poking about the fireplace. "But our killer was running something altogether more secret. He had to have this little house away from the rest of the world, his little base. Look – he hasn't even used the fireplace for fear of smoke."

Sherlock carried on around the room, looking into all of the crevices about the room. John stood in the middle, hands in his pockets, watching.

"So, what exactly do you intend to find here?"

The younger man straightened up, eyes shining. "The _truth¸ _John." He glanced around, biting down hard on his bottom lip, searching. At last, he seemed to have found what he was looking for. He grinned.

Sherlock moved back to the fireplace and slammed his fist into the panelling above it.

*SLAM*

"Sherlock, what're you -"

*SLAM*

"_Sherlock -_"

On the third hit, his hand broke through the panel, and his smile grew bigger. He made the hole larger and stuck his head and arms through.

"Sherlock, if you could fill me in I'd -" He stopped. He strained his ears, trying to hear over his companion's scufflings in the chimney. Yes, there it was. There was definitely a low rumble, somewhere far away. And… was he imagining it, or… or was it getting louder? Closer?

Everything began to tremble and he knew what was happening.

"Christ, you've started a bloody avalanche!

"Hmm? What? Yes, very interesting John…"

"Sherlock, _get down!_"

He dived to the floor, pulling Sherlock out of the hole and down with him. He rolled them both under the table.

John shut his eyes.

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><p><strong>The more reviews I get, the sooner I'll update :)<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys. I felt deliciously evil after the last chapter, but seeing as I got lots of lovely reviews and still took ages to review, so I won't be doing that again. I do have a reason, though - unfortunately I recieved some bad news, which is also why this chapter is a bit short, and, er, rubbish. Sorry. But I'll update soon, I promise!**

At last, it stopped. John let go of Sherlock, panting a little.

"Was that really necessary? Only I was in the middle of something. And why is it dark?"

"For goodness sake, you're supposed to be _good_ at deductions. I shouted 'avalanche', now we're both on the floor in the dark after a lot of shaking."

Sherlock looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Even in the dark, he could see his companion reddening.

"I… I didn't mean -"

"We're on our own, John, and I'M hardly going to start thinking we're a couple." He got up, pulling out his phone.

"Good idea – let's call Mycroft," said John, following.

"What? No, don't be ridiculous. I need a light to investigate by."

"Sherlock, we have to call _somebody, _how are we going to get out."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Sherlock had by now returned to the fireplace, and was about to stick his head in it again. John grabbed his shoulder and forcibly pulled him across the room. He swung open the door to the cabin. They were greeted by a solid wall of snow.

"There is enough snow to cover the windows and doors enough that not even any _light_ can get through. If we call now, you'll have plenty of time to finish whatever the hell it is you're doing over there before they arrive."

"Well why don't _you _– oh. Of course. You _always _do forget to charge your phone." Sherlock frowned. "Here." He begrudgingly shoved his phone into John's waiting hand.

"Thank you." The army doctor punched in the numbers and put the phone to his ear. After several moments, he frowned. "There's no signal."

"Don't be ridiculous, John, there's _always _signal for the emergency services."

"No, there really isn't a signal. Look." He handed it over.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "That's because you dialled '999'. We're in France, you need '112'. See?" He punched in the new number and handed the phone back. He marched over to the window and looked out into the thick, dark white.

John also rolled his eyes, and put the phone to his ear. "It's still not working."

Sherlock's head snapped towards him. "What?" He crossed the room in two strides and snatched the phone off him. John was right.

"But… that's impossible."

"Well, it's happened Sherlock. What now?"

The detective raised his eyebrows and turned down the corners of his mouth in a sturgeon face. "Well, _I'm _going to continue the case."

"We can't stay here, you know. We'll freeze. Or starve."

By now, Sherlock was already back by his post at the chimney, torso within the cavity once more. "When we come to it, John."

John stared at what he could see of his companion in despair. He knew, of course, that there was no way to change his mind, but surely if he could just make him see the severity of the situation…

"Sherlock, we could _die._"

"I've died before. It isn't as much of an inconvenience as you might think."

John shook his head, sighing in the most exasperated fashion he could muster, hoping his friend would take the hint. When nothing happened, the doctor sighed again, more quietly this time, and settled himself on the floor near the wall.

It was going to be a long day.

**Please review if you want :3**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hannah - your wish is my command :P Thanks to all the other reviewers too. Enjoy this chapter.**

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><p>"I <em>knew <em>it!"

John woke with a start at the outburst, just in time to see Sherlock emerging from a hole in the wall, holding a gun and a spoon. Oh yeah. They were stuck in a cabin. Great.

"What?"

Sherlock gave him _that_ look. That look that said he was an idiot. "Don't you _see, _John?" he asked, shaking the items at his companion.

John flinched. "_Don't _ wave that thing at me!"

Sherlock looked at his hands, rolled his eyes, and put the gun in an evidence bag he pulled from his pocket. "There. Pleased, now?"

"Not really," he muttered under his breath, but then he smirked. "And neither will you be in a minute…"

Sure enough, Sherlock strode across the room.

"3… 2… 1…"

Sherlock froze as his hand touched the door handle. "…Damn."

John, still sitting against the wall, sniggered.

"Oh, be quiet," muttered Sherlock, walking over to where John sat, "_you're _stuck here too."

"Alright, alright, I know," he said, getting up. "So." He flicked his hands. "What do you want to do?"

"We could dig our way out."

John shook his head, the doctor in him coming out. "We should probably leave that as a last resort. Keep the heat in, or we'll end up getting hypothermia."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"I don't know, _you're _the genius."

Sherlock gave him a withering look, but said nothing. John sighed.

"Okay, how about we wait for an hour or so. _Someone's _bound to have heard an avalanche like that. And who knows, maybe the signal will come back."

Sherlock looked simultaneously appalled and sceptical. "An _hour?_"

"Oh, come on Sherlock, I've seen you sit doing nothing for days at a time."

"But the _case,_ John!" he whined.

"Oh, shut up…"

Sherlock's mouth opened for a moment, and quivered, but he didn't actually say anything. At last he scowled, and slumped to the floor, arms crossed, assuming the position that John had occupied a few moments before.

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><p>"It's been an hour," said Sherlock, sulkily.<p>

"Is that all?" muttered John, reaching for the phone. He looked at it. Frowned. "Still no signal."

There was a short silence, wherein Sherlock stared at John with wide eyes. "What?" It was so fast that it was a sound, not a word.

Despite himself, John laughed. "There's still no signal," he repeated, grinning.

Sherlock stared at him for a few seconds longer, than stared straight ahead of himself. "Then let's dig our way out."

"I really don't think that's a good idea."

"Then what do you propose we do?"

John had to admit, he didn't have any better ideas.

"Then I'm digging." With that, Sherlock got up, strode over to the door and flung it open.

The doorframe was blockaded with a solid wall of snow. The detective raised his eyebrows and swallowed, but otherwise appeared undaunted.

"Right." He crouched down and examined the bottom of the snow-wall. Pawed at it ineffectively. Coughed. Sniffed. Knocked a few flakes to the floor. Cleared his throat. Dug a tiny hovel.

"Yeah, as entertaining as that is Sherlock, I don't really think it's working."

Sherlock snapped his head round to glare at him, eyes narrowed, but quickly returned to his work. He made the hovel a little bigger, then, apparently satisfied, stood up with a small smile.

John stood up too. "Wow. I mean, wow. I wonder why I was ever worried, to be honest," he said, sarcastically.

Sherlock's smile twitched a little wider, and he elbowed the wall of snow.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, the whole block of snow above the hovel fell to the floor.

The detective smiled properly. "You were saying?"

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><p><strong>If there is anything you would particularly like to see in later chapters, let me know and I'll see if I can fit it into my plan :P<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**So, I've sort of run out of ideas a hell of a lot faster than I thought I would, so the next chapter will be the beginning of the end. As such, people are welcome to use this idea. (Not that I own the idea or anything.)**

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><p>John had to admit, Sherlock worked admirably. He didn't think even a bored, unstimulated consulting detective had <em>that <em> much energy. It was a full three hours before Sherlock returned to the hut and slumped, exhausted, next to his flatmate. He looked tired and annoyed, and in no mood to deal with anything other than silence.

John put on his cheeriest, most-annoying smile. "So, how's it going?"

Sherlock growled low in his throat. "I've dug in about a metre. There's still exactly the same amount of light in the tunnel." He shifted uncomfortably, before adding, in a mutter: "And now I'm cold."

John bit back an 'I told you so,' instead smiling a little more kindly. "Want my coat?"

Sherlock looked at him a moment, then: "No… no, I'm alright. It… wouldn't fit over mine, anyway."

"And I wouldn't give it to you. It's your own fault, you stupid sod."

They grinned at each other.

"So, what now?"

Sherlock curled up into a smaller ball and shuffled a little away from John. "I'm going to have a nap."

"We could be stuck here for a while Sherlock, sleeping isn't going to help that. And you never sleep."

"Did you know you will die of sleep deprivation before you die of food deprivation?"

"That's great, but you go without eating as…"

But the detective was already completely still. Damn. John had forgotten how he could do that.

He looked over to the door. He _could, _he supposed, go do some digging, but he still wasn't sure he wanted to risk hypothermia just yet. He pulled the phone out of his pocket again. Still no signal. He sighed.

Shivered.

He really was _quite _cold. He looked down at Sherlock, utterly dead to the world. He thought about what Sherlock had said about sleep deprivation. And he did look very warm. John sighed yet again – he seemed to do that a lot since coming to France with Sherlock – smiled a little at the thought of Sherlock waking up first, and lay down next to Sherlock, snuggling in for warmth.

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><p>"John."<p>

John moaned and tried to turn over, when he realised he was lying on something uncomfortable.

"_John_."

He opened his eyes. "Bargh!" He rolled away quickly. His face had been about an inch from Sherlock's.

"Sorry, John. I would have let you sleep longer but my arm was completely numb," said Sherlock, getting up and casually rubbing life back into his forearms.

"Longer? Sherlock, how long have you been awake?"

"A couple of hours. But you looked like you needed it."

"So you just lay watching me. For two hours."

"Yes."

"That's really creepy, Sherlock."

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><p>Sherlock walked tiredly back into the hut, but he wore a weary smile. John didn't.<p>

"I'm so cold, Sherlock."

He looked down at the army doctor. "Want my coat?"

"What, really?"

Sherlock took off his coat. "Here. I've just been working, I'm warm."

John took it doubtfully. "Thanks." He smiled too, then. "I guess I'll have to actually do my share of work now."

As he walked out, John thought about how it was almost as if Sherlock was too tired to be Sherlock. He wasn't being annoying. He wasn't being sharp. He was being considerate.

He was just like everyone else, deep down.

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><p><strong>But is there a reason for Sherlock's odd behaviour? Find out next chapter... and please review<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Just a short, quick chapter. I'm not sure if I love this chapter or hate it... Oh, if you are offended by italics, I should warn you, they are grossly over-used in this chapter.**

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><p>"I dug diagonally upwards a little and I think I'm making progress but there's an ice wall so we -" John walked completely into the cabin and caught sight of the detective curled up against the wall. "Sherlock?"<p>

No response.

John sighed, and went over and shook him. "_Sherlock._" He still didn't wake up. John frowned, and his stomach shifted uncomfortably. "Sherlock…?"

No response.

Sherlock looked very, very pale. John took his gloves off and put his hands on Sherlock's cheeks. His heart almost stopped. He felt sick. Even to John's already-cold skin, he could feel that the skin was icy cold.

"Sh… Sherlock…"

"_Want my coat? Here. I've just been working, I'm warm."_

_Paradoxical undressing._

John felt for Sherlock's wrist and took its pulse.

_Decreased physiological systems._

And now that he was looking, John could see that Sherlock's lips were puffy, and tinted a little blue.

_Hypothermia._

John swore under his breath and began to take off his various jackets and place them on the young detective.

_How the HELL didn't he notice earlier? _But then, he supposed, he must be suffering the early stages of hypothermia himself, by now. It wasn't really important at that moment. He'd finished covering Sherlock.

He began to tap his cheeks. "Sherlock. Sherlock, wake up."

No response. Again.

He physically shook him. _Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't – _"Sherlock, _for the love of God, _wake. Up. _Please _wake up. Sherlock. Please."

John practically threw Sherlock against the wall and stood up, breathing heavily. He put his hands over his mouth and shut his eyes. _What the Hell was he going to do?_

He had to get help, or Sherlock was going to die. But he couldn't get help. He rook one last look at the prone figure under the coats, and ran outside.

And he _dug. _He dug every direction he could, just moving the snow, digging upwards, backwards, anywhere he thought there might be the outside world. He dug until he was surrounded by snow, and he had no idea which way was up. At that point, the cold had reached his bones, and he was too tired to move, and oh God, Sherlock was going to die, and so was he, and no one would ever know, and he would lie there as his brain slowly died, and he didn't even have the strength to go and see Sherlock for one last time, and he never fixed his problems with Harry, and just Christ, he was going to _die, _be _dead_, and Sherlock was going to die and –

*Bzzzzt*

John forced himself up on one elbow, confused.

*Bzzzzt*

It was coming from his pocket.

*Bzzzzt*

It was Sherlock's phone.

_52 New Messages, 8 Missed Calls_

The signal was back.

John could have wept as he scrolled through the messages and calls – every single one was from Mycroft, getting increasingly annoyed.

As he held it in his hands, the phone began to ring.

He pressed the button and put it warily to his ear. "…Mycroft?"

"John, where on Earth are you two? I've been trying to contact that childish little brother mine all day, but of course -"

"_Mycroft._" John finally found his voice, although he was close to tears of relief.

Mycroft seemed to notice something was wrong. "John? What's happened?"

"Mycroft, we…" he swallowed. "There was an avalanche. Do you know where we are? I mean, you must, you always know where Sherlock is, I mean, you can send someone, right?"

"John -"

John _was _actually crying now. "Because, I don't think I can remember where we came, Mycroft, because I'm tired and I have hypothermia and Sherlock's nearly dead -"

"_John._" Mycroft was obviously worried now. "Calm down. I can send someone."

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><p><strong>Reviews plez?<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Technogirl317: ask and ye shall receive. A short chapter to bring this story to an end a year after the last update. Reviews would be lovely, but I don't suppose I deserve them after such a long time. I hope you enjoy.**

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><p>At some point, John had fallen asleep. He realised that now. A wonderful, warm sleep. Within his mind, he smiled. He had been trying not to fall asleep. He remembered that. But why? This was amazing. This was the most comfortable he thought he'd been in his life. Warm, and comfortable, and safe.<p>

But as he lay there, in the gentle cocoon of his unconscious, something began to skitter across the edge of his thoughts. Something bothered him. A reason for trying to stay awake. Whatever he was doing before he fell asleep. Memories trying to break down his walls.

Cold. It was hard to imagine cold now, now that he was so very, very warm, but it had been cold. He had been trying to stay awake for his own safety, obviously, in the dangerous cold. But no. That wasn't it, not entirely anyway. There was something else. Something… important…

He remembered.

"Sherlock…" Suddenly he was fighting through the blankets of sleep, not lying beneath them. His mind burned with one thought. He had to save Sherlock. "Sherlock…" Sounds of the world around him began to filter in, noises which he disregarded when he didn't immediately comprehend them. They weren't important. He felt… colder. He forced his eyes open.

If he had been present enough to have expected something, it wouldn't have been this.

He was, not for the first time, lying in a hospital ward. It stalled him only for a moment, before –

"Sherlock."

He turned his head to the right, but there was just a screen divider around the adjacent bed. He looked to the left.

In that bed was Sherlock.

He was awake, sitting up in bed reading through papers and talking through them. Beside him was Lestrade, who was watching John carefully. He smiled when John caught his eye.

"… Don't you think, Detective Inspector?" said Sherlock, looking up. Noticing Lestrade was distracted, he followed his gaze. "Oh. Good evening, John." He looked back to the papers.

John let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Evening." He propped himself up on one elbow. "I take it Mycroft showed up then?"

"Apparently. We were both unconscious at the time." He looked up at John again. "I hear they found the cabin easily, but had to dig around to find you."

"But I'm guessing we're back in England now," murmured John, with a pointed look at Lestrade.

"Yeah, Mycroft insisted," said Lestrade. "They kept you under for the journey, so it's been a couple of days." He smiled again. "It's, uh, nice to see you awake, but I do need to get back to work now. Can I leave those case files with you, Sherlock?"

"Hmm? Yes, sure. I'll text you."

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><p>"What happened with that case in the Alps, do you know?" asked John. He was sitting in his armchair with a cup of tea. It'd been two days since they'd been checked out of hospital.<p>

"I was right. It was the spoon from the restaurant. The vet's been arrested."

"Oh. Good. Nice to know we didn't almost die for nothing."

Sherlock looked slowly up from his book. "…John."

"Mm?" said John, also looking up. His brow furrowed when he saw the severity of Sherlock's expression. "Sherlock?"

"I… apologise that that case inconvenienced you. I don't remember you being particularly eager to jet off to France."

John half-laughed. "Sherlock, you were 'inconvenienced' too."

"True. I would've died… if you hadn't been there."

"Yeah. Well. That's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

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><p><strong>THE END<strong>


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